I narrow my eyes, and he falls into me, my back hitting the lockers as he plants his hands on both sides of my head.

“You know that I know that I’m nothing, and you know the life I promise,” he continues.

I tip up my chin. Is that what he thinks? That I keep him around because I’m just too excited to assume the same role my mother has with my father? A trophy wife to take care of the kids and represent the charities?

“I’m not like my father, Clay.” He stares down at me, and I can smell the girl’s perfume on him. “A powerful man needs a powerful woman, not a weak one. And you will have power.” He pushes off the locker and stands up straight. “You’ll have your lovers in college, and I’ll have mine, and after it’s all done, we’ll come home and build a fucking city. We’ll be quite a team.”

I want to laugh. Like I need him to do any of that.

He takes my face, and I flinch, shoving his hand away. But he comes back in and pulls me into him just as Liv appears around the corner.

I turn to her, my heart stopping as she halts, and the look in her eyes hits me like a ton of bricks. I go weak in Callum’s arms for only a split second, gazing at her and seeing myself in my head, hurling my body into her arms and assuring her that I’m hers.

Callum stills, his eyes darting from me to her and back again. “Oh, I see.” He beams. “Well, my perception sucks. Damn.”

I shove out of his arms, growling. “What are you talking about? Just—”

“Clay, I’m into it,” he cuts me off. “I’m really into it.” He smiles, coming in again, and I see Liv walk past him, toward the front doors. “You can have as many women as you like as long as I get to watch.”

My stomach roils. Oh, God…

“And as long as you’re only mine after the ball,” he says. And then he takes my hand and places a small vial with white tablets inside in my palm. “These will help your legs fall apart.”

What?

He leaves, and I look back toward the direction Liv walked, but she’s already gone. Opening my fist, I see the pills, and have to swallow to keep the bile from rising.

Molly. I feel sick.

For Christ’s sake. At least he’s not planning to slip this shit into my drink without me knowing, I guess. He wants me comfortable and willing. He wants me to drug myself.

And I would have to. It would take a lot more than Valium to get me into bed with him.

To get me to want him.

To get me to forget about her.

I dump the pills in the trash can on the way out of school.

I SLIDE THE scissors up the fabric, cutting in short snips, but the day has taken its toll, and I jerk the tool, sliding the blade until there’s a huge slice right through the middle.

“Son of a bitch,” I bite out, rising off the floor and wiping the sweat off my forehead.

Dammit.

I grab the bolt of fabric off the table and start unraveling, measuring more.

Clay’s never going to stand out by choice. She was always going to wind up with Callum or someone of the like, because that’s what perfect looks like.

I know that. I’ve always known that. But God, it sucked to see her in someone else’s arms. I didn’t expect it to suck that much.

I’m pretty sure she didn’t invite it, but she will choose him. Ultimately. That soulless, arrogant prick who hires people to do all his thinking for him. He doesn’t know what she likes.

But then I falter. Does he?

Clay is really hot in bed, and my ego didn’t even take into account that she would ever be that good with anyone else. I thought it was just us together.

Not likely. Someone else will be holding her in a few months. She knows what she likes now, and when we’re off to college, she’ll find someone else to pass the time.

“Miss Jaeger?” Lavinia calls.

Shit. I dive over to the cabinet and grab the container of pins. “Got it!” I call, jogging out of the workroom and into the dressing room. I hand Lavinia the container I’d forgotten minutes ago. “Here you go.”

I hand it to her, and she takes a few out, sticking them to the magnet on her wrist. Amy stands on the riser, her debutante dress a strapless A-line with a simple belt around the waist tied with a bow. She pulls on her long white gloves as Lavinia walks over to grab her matching shoes.

Amy meets my eyes in the mirror, her black eye from the fight the other night just about gone. “You can tell that bitch I always have the last word,” she says.

I pick up a couple of discarded tiaras and the flowers Amy probably ordered Lavinia to cut off the dress. “Too bad for you Aracely isn’t interested in talk,” I tell her, knowing the only way Amy can win anything is because of her daddy. And I back away. “You should also be wearing champagne. You look like death.”

Her red hair looks horrible against the dress, and I know there’s rules about the colors they’re allowed to wear, but progress, people. Come on.

Heading back to the workroom, my phone buzzes with a notification.

I lift it up, seeing a missed text from Clay. That’s two in the past hour. At least she waited until I was out of rehearsal before she started blowing up my phone to do damage control about Callum.

I turn off the screen and go to set it down, but it buzzes again.

I can’t stop myself. I glance over. I don’t want him, the text reads.

Yeah, but you’ll choose him. I toss the phone down. I’m not mad. I just don’t want to act like it’s okay, because it’s not. While she’s mine, she’s mine, and no one else’s and that’s it.

The phone buzzes again, and every muscle tightens. I have work to do, Clay.

But then it vibrates again, and I can’t resist.

You don’t care, right? She challenges me. We’re both leaving? This is just fun, right?

My eyes burn. Yeah, it’s just fun, and...

I want you to care, she types. I want you to come and get me and take me anywhere or just come inside my house.

I stare at the words, my longing for her twisting unbearably in my stomach.

I love that my bed smells like you, she writes. I love it when I smell like you.

I smile softly, my anger fading.

Do you ever think about doing what Alli did? she asks. We want out until we remember why we want to live. If only she had hung on. If only she’d felt this.

I grip the phone. But when I don’t respond to her texts, she sends another.

Hey, quick—what can jellybeans do that we can’t?

I narrow my eyes.

Come in different colors! she replies. Hardy-har *tap-step-hand clap*

I snort, more at the fact that she’s trying so hard to get my attention than the actual joke.

Please.

I’m sorry, she texts. I just… I wish I was looking at you right now.

God, she’s killing me. Why is she doing this? It’s not forever, right? We can keep this up for fun, but she needs to know she’s not the only one moving on to a different life when this is over.

I’m not waiting for her.